


The Giving

by PetrichorBather



Series: Campfire / White Hot Light [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Explicit Sexual Content, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Pining, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorBather/pseuds/PetrichorBather
Summary: Last night, Jaskier asked Geralt to fuck him senseless. He is reeling. So, while Geralt is away hunting for dinner, Jaskier composes a song. Geralt's ears pick it up on his way back to their campsite and it sends shivers down his spine. After they eat, he asks Jaskier to play it once more... sex and Feelings ensue.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Campfire / White Hot Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658188
Comments: 16
Kudos: 285





	The Giving

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter took a few weeks to write, but once I started this, I couldn't stop. I want to start a third part soon.

Jaskier felt his soul leaking into his lute again. Geralt had just gone to hunt for dinner before they set out on the road again the next day. A dramatic run descending the A minor scale. Gentle arpeggios in C major, then to D minor. He allowed himself enough volume to process his emotions, but not too much, because Geralt’s hearing was too sensitive. Jaskier never knew where he was when he went hunting.

Yes, he fell apart on Geralt’s cock; he could still feel the soreness in his body, the handprint bruises on his hips. But fear enveloped him when he remembered that Geralt probably still had feelings for Yennefer, somewhere. He remembered seeing them in that destroyed house, through the window, wanting to stay and watch, to imagine what it was like to be in Yennefer’s body, before being dragged away.

He sang, going easy on his vocal chords, but allowing his emotion to be converted into breath power, soft waves of vibrato caressing Geralt’s ears, it seemed.

“He’s gone hunting,  
again,  
He’s going to pretend  
I don’t feel,

He can ignore it, but  
His handprints on my body  
Remind me of why  
I follow him

O, White Wolf  
My soul is yours to love  
My body yours to take  
Melitele, above…”

Geralt tiptoed through the forest, waiting. He hadn’t gone too far from camp. The whisper of the forest was thrumming in his veins. She spoke to him, through snapped twigs, through puttering of animal hooves and paws. Geralt spotted a rabbit in the distance. He knocked and drew his arrow without shifting weight at all, and then it was flying into the rabbit. A swift death was always a gift he tried to bestow to any animal he ate.

He began the journey back to camp, retracing his steps. Jaskier’s scent and voice were just a tinge on the air, enough for him to sense but not enough for him to swallow. Of course he could find his way back to camp, but allowing him to go off of Jaskier’s bright earthy scent was just the kind of intimacy he would allow from Jaskier, for so long. Until last night.

Of course Geralt was secure enough in his masculinity to allow himself to fantasize about Jaskier occasionally, justifying it with the flings he’d had as a teenager in Kaer Mohren. Something about admitting that Jaskier could be a good lay for him just threatened him to be… vulnerable. He did feel that same vulnerability with Yennefer, and maybe that’s the root of his hesitation. Maybe.

As Geralt neared camp, he caught Jaskier’s voice on the air, a soft wave of White Wolf… floating towards Geralt and hitting him with force. He gripped the rabbit tighter and grunted, wondering what cliche tune Jaskier was singing about their night before. It had been a while since anyone was so overwhelmed with lust in his presence. Usually, it was embarrassing. Some woman being unable to hide the crack in her voice as her eyes ran down Geralt’s body, wondering just how hard he could fuck them. Pleading for a chance to take his cock, to brag to their friends about how they bedded a witcher. Jaskier was cocky, sure. But something in his voice last night told Geralt he cherished his touch more than anything on the continent. Jaskier’s voice, tinged with a hint of melancholy, was slipping over the edges of the forest and now cloaking Geralt’s senses.

As he neared the edge of the treeline, he listened. He could see the tent about a ways away, could barely make out Jaskier as he sat by the logs where they kept their campfire. He keeps up his pace, without sacrificing the quietness of his feet. As he hears the contents of Jaskier’s lyrics, the way he is passionately vibrating his hand to add passion to his chords, makes Geralt’s breath hitch in his throat.

Jaskier’s voice, now like a siren’s call through the clearing, drawing Geralt closer with quickening speed. He could hear the keen in Jaskier’s voice, not all to different from the way he cried out for more of Geralt’s cock down his throat, in his ass, for his teeth on him, his hands on his throat… Fuck.

“O, White Wolf  
My soul is yours to love  
My body yours to take  
Melitele, above…

You know you can’t break me  
But maybe I want you to  
So I can feel you forever

I know you won’t hurt me  
But I need your bruises  
On my skin…”

The words of Jaskier’s passion reverberating around in his brain, melting his inhibitions. He had only called his singing fillingless pie because he was frustrated. He couldn’t ignore the way Jaskier’s aching vibrato tore through his mind. That was more frustrating.  
Geralt felt that familiar tinge of heat building in his abdomen. There were so many times he was out off by women (or sometimes men) groveling at his feet, begging for him to touch them, to ruin them. This is just what Jaskier did last night. Sure, Geralt could call Jaskier pathetic for sucking him off so hungrily, but Jaskier had been nothing but respectful every time they bumped into each other. He had hidden his lust so well that it had become just a strange unidentifiable scent in the mix of fresh earth and citrus. 

He thought about how last night, he fucked Jaskier with all of his brute force, and Jaskier was just moaning, keening, relishing in the Witcher’s strength. With every brutal thrust of his hips, Jaskier’s body rocked against the bedroll, perfectly absorbing his force, absolutely losing his body in the Witcher’s grip. His eyes never flickered away from Geralt’s. They stayed, as if to say, _Don’t you dare hold back._

Before Geralt knew it, he was across the clearing and approaching the tent. Jaskier startled, not jumping up from the log he was sitting on. That would make him look even more embarrassed. Jaskier knew Geralt could hear him probably for the last five minutes. Jaskier usually found words and emotions bubbling at his throat, spilling out of his mouth, but this time, he had already spilled them over the grass in front of them. He just sighed. He had already exposed himself to Geralt last night in every possible way, of course he was going to process his emotions by singing about it. Just for himself.

Geralt sat down on the log next to Jaskier with a smile just enough to make Jaskier even more embarrassed. He knew Geralt was nonverbally commenting on his song. Jaskier summoned inner strength and drew in a breath. He knew Geralt’s intentions were never disgustingly judgemental, but the fillingless pie comment really tore a hole in Jaskier’s chest when he thought about it. He tried to remember that Geralt sometimes spoke harshly without meaning to… But again, Jaskier knew he could be annoying…

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s sultry voice snapped him from his disassociation that had come so quickly.

“Yes, Geralt?” Jaskier spoke as earnestly as he could.

“Are you ready for dinner?” Geralt tilted his head a bit, just like he did at the Banquet of Cintra, god, fuck. It sent a wave of heat tearing down his spine.

“Y-yes.” Jaskier replied. He had spent what, 20 years on and off with Geralt, hiding his feelings through every single meal, and for some reason, now that he had gotten a taste of what Geralt could do, could make him feel, he was finding it increasingly different to function. He relished when Geralt would hunt, and he could use his alone time to lay on the bedroll, shuddering, images of Geralt committing pure sin on Jaskier’s body racing in his mind’s eye. He knew they both had to eat soon, but -

“Hmm. I don’t think so, little lark.” Geralt teased, already smirking. He tossed the rabbit on a log to skin and cook later. He has a bard to unravel, he decided.

Jaskier gasped quietly. Last night, he was all sexual prowess, swallowing down Geralt’s cock like it was water from an oasis. But what’s wrong with knowing exactly what he wants? He wants to make Geralt weak, yes. But he wants Geralt to make him weak, too. 

“Something tells me you want to have me first.” Geralt purrs. His voice is always gravelly and dripping with sex appeal, but something about Geralt pulling the words from Jaskier’s mouth makes him melt.

“Well, Geralt, I won’t hide myself anymore. You’re right, rub it in, why don’t you. And actually, right now, you’re wrong, because I want you to have me. Mostly the same thing, but-“

Jaskier was cut off by Geralt pulling him up by the collar of his doublet and placing a rough kiss on his lips. Jaskier moaned, long and drawn out, into the kiss, licking Geralt’s lips. Jaskier ran his hands up Geralt’s arms and let one trail to his hair, where he grabbed a fistful and pulled gently. He felt himself and Geralt both growing hard through their breeches, along with a pang of shame and embarrassment. Gut twisting, he had to pull from the kiss.

“Geralt, I don’t want you to think this is the only thing I want you for. Please. I don’t just want to be your fucking whore.” Jaskier raised an eyebrow and squinted at Geralt. Inside him, there was a part of him only ruled by lust. He would linger in the corner of rooms, smoldering. Fire leaking from every inch of skin, seeking that connection with anyone who would let him. Geralt raised an eyebrow back at him, knowing the bard’s sex life didn’t define him. 

So Jaskier continued with a deep chuckle. He traces a line from Geralt’s hair down to his chest and presses his hips against Geralt’s. The smile that grew across his lips was sinful. Geralt could admit that he had never met a man with such a unique sexual energy as Jaskier’s. Yes, the air vibrated in every conversation Geralt had, as he took in every bit of energy and scent of the person in front of him - sexual energy included where applicable.

But Jaskier was… unique among men. His blue eyes pierced through the stone facade that Geralt keeps for his convenience and sanity. It’s easier to compartmentalize. To repress. Lust included. Renfri’s broach stays with him for a reason. He’s had quick flings, but the wounds that cut the deepest were those who he’d fallen in love and lust with. Like Yennefer. He snapped out of his daze by Jaskier’s purring in his face.

“Oh, Geralt… My whole body and soul wants to be your whore. Let you keep me tied up on Roach and have me whenever you want…” He gently bumped his forehead against Geralt’s. “But I’m more than that. And you’re more than that to me.”

“Hmm.” Geralt burred and smiled sweetly, the way he had smiled in Calanthe’s court, absolutely ripping through Jaskier’s poor bisexual heart. Jaskier knew his hmm was a _Yes, I know, Jaskier._

“Geralt, I need you… but we need to eat first. You know why? Because once you’re inside me, I don’t think I can let you leave.” Jaskier purred. Geralt bit his lip and growled deep in his throat. He only needed to give Jaskier that look, head tilted downwards, eyes piercing, a slight smirk.

“Mmm."

Geralt brought the rabbit into the tent to prepare. Jaskier followed, buzzing with a softened lust, floating in his groin and abdomen and chest like light pink clouds of the sunrise.

——— 

As they eat, Jaskier is able to find some control in dampening the waves of lust he feels like Geralt constantly pulls from him. Jaskier suffers from seeing beauty in almost anyone, and loving sex far too much, he feels. Before last night, he would find himself in a brothel bed with a long-haired, muscled man, stroking himself off with tears in his eyes as he pretended Geralt’s cock was the one in his mouth. It’s the least he could do, out of respect for Geralt, what, with maidens and men throwing themselves at him everywhere they went.

But somehow, Geralt pitied him enough to let him feast on his cock like a whore. The least Jaskier could do was harness every muscle in his body, remember every trick up his sleeve to give Geralt as much pleasure as possible. In these quiet moments, eating pieces of cooked hare with their hands near the campfire, Jaskier felt shame. It was like last night all over again. _Shut up,_ he told his inner monologue. _Just eat. He was inside you last night._

Jaskier took a breath and allowed himself to enjoy the taste of cooked meat and water from the flask.

“Thank you for dinner, Geralt.” He spoke softly.

“Mm.” Geralt nodded. Jaskier’s eyes flickered to Geralt’s canines as they tore through the meat. Take a breath, Jaskier tells himself as he breathes in through his nose. Jaskier has come to accept Geralt’s preference of not saying more than necessary. He’s gotten better at not taking it personally.

The smell of new growth and seed buds sprouting from trees invigorates him. In this moment, the humidity of the soil, the leaves, the wind picking up…. He absorbs it all into his skin. The love of his life is sitting to his left, just finishing a piece of hare. Just taking care of his traveling companion. Jaskier wasn’t going to trick himself into thinking he could ever be Geralt’s “boyfriend”. If he was just going to be a quick fuck, he needed to know. But Geralt’s words from last night echoed in his mind: “I’m not going anywhere, Jaskier.”

There are questions with no answer.

“We’ll need to leave camp tomorrow and keep traveling. Heard there’s drowners troubling the next down.” Geralt grunted, Jaskier gave him a nod in reply. He looked to the bedroll they had shared, wondering if Geralt was afraid of the idea of sharing a bedroll often.

“I guess I’ll play for a while. It’s always nice to sing before going on the road.” Jaskier mumbled.

“You sing on the road anyway.” Geralt chuckled. Jaskier and him caught each other’s eyes again. Something in Geralt’s gut twisted. Why was he ashamed to admit he found the bard physically attractive? His lips formed a small smile. Jaskier picked up his lute and expected Geralt to walk to the tent.

But he stayed.

“That song you were playing earlier.” He burred. “Play it for me.” Something commanding dripped from his voice. That authoritarian tinge. Jaskier loved it, he loved pleasing Geralt. That tone made him want to bare his throat and spread his legs, just enough for Geralt’s hand. He knew Geralt had heard him playing from across the creek.

Yes, sir. Jaskier let the ghost of the words breathe out of him. He said it, but not with his mouth.

Jaskier found the chords, A minor, a soft arpeggio. C minor arpeggio. D minor arpeggio. A run, descending the A minor scale, back to the tonic. Deviate, bend some notes, make the lute speak, speaking out into the moonlight like Jaskier did alone, whether under the roof of an Inn or the canopy of a tent. 

He took a breath and sang.

“He’s gone hunting,  
again,  
He’s going to pretend  
I don’t feel.”

Geralt squints at Jaskier, that same fondness that he showed at Calanthe’s party. His bard was just here, laying it all out for him, his suppressed feelings, all of it. Geralt couldn’t help but pity him. But his musical and sexual prowess was undeniable. When Jaskier was drowning in lust, his eyes glowed with a glassiness as he licked his lips, demanding exactly how hard he wanted to be fucked. Now here he was, silent bravery, the ocean of his feelings crashing at their ankles.

Jaskier continued,

“He can ignore it, but  
His handprints on my body  
Remind me of why  
I follow him…”

Jaskier looked up and met Geralt’s eyes, and there it was. That glow. That tinge of unraveling that made Geralt’s gust twist and his pants tighten. Jaskier trailed off into arpeggios, improvising in the key of A minor, biting his lip occasionally, swaying, looking at Geralt.

Jaskier licked his lips before singing again, eyes still locked on Geralt. Memorizing lute fingerings made it easier to maintain eye contact during a performance… whatever the context. Geralt couldn’t help but smirk as Jaskier’s nimble fingers danced across the neck of his lute. He sang passionately, with a tinge of wanton, closing his eyes when singing of Geralt’s fucking hands on his body. 

Jaskier continued, looking back at the neck of his lute just in time for Geralt to grimace as his emotions lapped at his ankles like low tide.

“O, White Wolf  
My soul is yours to love  
My body yours to take  
Melitele, above…”

God, what has he done? Letting this bard follow him, take care of him, tend to his wounds, rub fucking chamomile on his ass? What has he fucking done? Geralt chuckled to himself before standing up and walking towards Jaskier. Melitele, he has humored the sluttiest bard on the continent by giving him a taste of his own sexual prowess.

Jaskier muted the strings instantly, his heart racing. His senses were already attuned to Geralt’s body language. He could hear Geralt say without moving his lips, _That’s enough, now._

There were so many looks Geralt could give Jaskier, and Jaskier knew exactly what he wanted. Geralt reached down and grabbed Jaskier’s ribcage with both hands.

“Let me take you, then.” Geralt purred darkly. Jaskier gasped and bit his lips, a blush creeping into his cheeks. He felt the tips of his ears getting hot, he was watching himself from above. He tried to pull himself back to his body by looking Geralt up and down, his eyes burning with a lust stronger than most, a deep, heady cinnamon scent on Geralt’s nose.

Jaskier looked at Geralt from under his eyelashes and whispered, “Yes, sir.” He bit his lip and couldn’t help but smile. Geralt pulled away to strip himself of his armor, and Jaskier watched, mouth watering as he peeled each piece from his body. He could just stare at Geralt stretching for hours. He didn’t need to voice that though. Surely, Geralt already knew.

Jaskier was dizzy, breathless, as he unlaced his doublet and left it open before sauntering into the tent. Geralt picked up the pieces of his armor and followed behind him, smelling the heady scent of human arousal. Geralt always cherished taking off his armor for the day, though he still didn’t mind sleeping in it. It is what it is.

Much like the smoldering Jaskier that crawls into the tent, placing his folded doublet next to Geralt’s armor - it is what it is. Jaskier always finds his way back to him. There are times without his chatter, his melodies laced through the air. It was nice. Before it wasn’t. Jaskier’s energy is beyond the male energy he’s been around before. He could feel something intense, fiery there. It comes through in the earthy, cinnamon tinge to the smell of his sweat.

Because, of course, Geralt makes him nervous. Of course, the only truly nervewracking thing to Jaskier is once again laying all of his emotions bare, begging for Geralt’s cock inside him, begging Geralt to get him high with that constant growl in his ear. Isn’t it always like this? It feels like the equivalent of months, since last night. The emotional waves rocking Jaskier’s body have him tripping, falling…

“Geralt, I-“ Jaskier opens his mouth, but not before Geralt grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him into his lap. Jaskier whimpers, heat rising in his chest from the feeling of being moved by Geralt,moved into his lap, and kissed possessively.

“Mm-mm.” Geralt grunted into the kiss to say, “Shut up.” and wound a hand into finger’s hair and pulled just enough to elicit a moan from the bard. Jaskier leaned his head back, or was it Geralt’s hand? Jaskier paused for a few breaths, and Geralt couldn’t take staring at Jaskier’s pale column of a throat, adorned with last night’s bruises, any longer.

He leaned forward, pulled Jaskier’s chemise off his shoulder and sucked a bruise there, tasting the sweat off his skin. Then another, at the base of his neck. Jaskier was mewling, whimpering, winding his hands into Geralt’s hair.

“You taste fucking divine,” Geralt growled through gritted teeth. Jaskier moaned softly and leaned his head down to meet Geralt’s for a taste of the hot spear through the gut that was eye contact with him. It shot adrenaline through his veins. Jaskier was already prepared to collapse in a pile in Geralt’s lap, begging incoherently to be fucked beyond comprehension. But he had to keep it the fuck together. It was fun when Geralt actually engaged with his flirting and wasn’t afraid.

“Gods yes, show me your teeth, Geralt…” Jaskier’s eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelashes fluttered. The sight of Geralt’s sneer, his canines, just made him want to strip and say Okay please, everywhere, please,

Geralt raised an eyebrow and squinted. “You’re so fucking weird,” he growled. Still, he sneered, and Jaskier felt himself slipping on the edge of sanity.

“D’you know just how many filthy things I’ve wanted you to do to me, you oaf?” Jaskier snapped suddenly, lust dripping from his voice. Geralt squinted and laughed.

“You’re a fucking pervert, Jaskier.” Geralt smirked. He ran his hands down Jaskier’s back, squeezing at his waistline, tightening with intensity. Jaskier whimpered and wriggled his way onto Geralt’s thigh and rutted his hips towards Geralt.

“No, Geralt…” Jaskier breathed, a smile working its way onto his face. It was devious, yes, but was also proof of his intoxication. He giggled to himself. “It’s because I’m a fucking slut. I was cursed with it. So I might as well enjoy myself.” Jaskier’s eyes were lit with that fire that made him so annoying, but also… intriguing?

Fuck.

Jaskier smiled, all teeth, something mischievous, something endearing. Jaskier licked his lips and traced a line over Geralt’s growing bulge. 

Fuck it, Jaskier thought. He moved from Geralt’s lap to hastily kick off his boots and remove his trousers. He positioned himself on the ground, nuzzling his face into Geralt’s loins, planting kisses, running teeth down Geralt’s erection through his leather. Geralt hissed and grabbed a fistful of Jaskier’s hair. When Geralt of Rivia moaned, it was a subduded roar. And Jaskier fucking reveled in it. 

“Get these fucking breeches off, Gods.” Jaskier growled this time. Geralt couldn’t help but chuckle again. Jaskier’s wildfire of emotions was always fascinating to Geralt, but he didn’t understand how Jaskier could ascend from his demure shyness to hazy, purring prowess. The flame in him was flickering and shooting off in three different directions.

Geralt chuckled and kicked off his boots before unbuttoning his breeches and sliding them to his knees. Jaskier was salivating, eyes flickering from Geralt’s cock to his mouth, his eyes. Geralt raised an eyebrow. Jaskier’s personality changed vastly during sex - one minute, he’s begging like a whore, the next minute he’s growling and his voice is dripping with lust, demanding. Jaskier slipped his fingers into his mouth, keeping his eyes on Geralt, then slid them to his asshole and entered himself.

“Sweet Melitele…” Jaskier purred at the feeling of his own fingers, before leaning down, planting kisses up Geralt’s shaft before descending until his lips touched the base of Geralt’s pelvis. Geralt let out a quiet roar and shuddered. His fist found Jaskier’s hair and pulled, not to direct his head, but because he was unraveling.

Jaskier was unforgiving, unrelenting, as he bobbed his head up and down, sucking, moaning like he was the one receiving pleasure. Jaskier’s moans raised in pitch, he was soaking through his pants. Geralt groaned as Jaskier licked and sucked the sensitive underside of his cock as he moved his head up and down.

After a few minutes, he looked up at Geralt like an incubus. He moved up Geralt’s cock, licking a long stripe as he maintained eye contact. Saliva dripped from Jaskier’s lips as he caught his breath. He was animalistic, before he began to beg again.

“G-Geralt, I need it… I need it rough, I need it to hurt… I know we must travel tomorrow but I swear I won’t complain, I swear it…” he whined.

“You got so wet just from taking me in your mouth,” Geralt purred. “You want to feel me every time you move tomorrow? Is that what you want?”

“Gods, fuck yes, Geralt,” Jaskier whined. “Please…sir” he felt tears welling up in his eyes as he crooked his fingers, barely rubbing against his prostate. “Fuck!” he spat as a sob took over his body. His erection flagged, his body blushed, he was dripping sweat, dripping precome on the floor of the tent…

“Gods, Jaskier.” Geralt teased. “Look at you, opening yourself up for me.” Jaskier smiled sweetly through the haze of his desperation. “You do this to yourself?” Jaskier nods. “And think of me?”

“Alwayssir…” Jaskier crooned. He moaned as he tried to force his fingers further inside himself. “I think about you fucking me within an inch of my life. Fucking me like I’m a bitch in heat-“

Geralt growled and tore his breeches from his ankles and dove from Jaskier, capturing in a forceful kiss. “You really are a slut, aren’t you, Jaskier. For almost anyone, it seems.” Geralt burred, running a possessive hand up Jaskier’s chest where it curled around the base of his throat and squeezed. “Do the women know you feel this way about a mutant?” a devious smile followed his words.

“R-remember, Geralt, I never thought you would finally pity me enough to fuck me. I-I thought I had no choice.” Jaskier sneered as he concentrated on breathing through Geralt’s force. His breath hitched as he pulled his fingers from himself. Geralt squinted and let his hand fall from Jaskier’s throat before crawling to the bedroll.

Pity.

“Hmm.” Geralt’s gut twisted with the word. Something, some obstacle, was soft, malleable, in him - the obstacle to realizing the reason why Jaskier always smelled of arousal. That sharp tinge that would fit past his nose, at the most random, inopportune times. He figured some damsel or another bard was on his mind. Never him —

“Come here. Now.” He demanded, rolling his eyes back in his head to suppress the pain that came with that word, pity. Jaskier let his eyelashes flutter just from the authority in his voice. He crawled over to Geralt and straddled his hips, grinding his erection slowly against Geralt’s. He leaned down nose Geralt’s cheek and begin kissing down his jaw. He rutted his hips again against Geralt’s cock again.

“Geraaalt…” Jaskier’s voice cracked with want. Geralt hummed in reply, a question - Am I really that good? He tilted his head and enjoyed the sight of his bard coming apart. His confidence was true, but he was humble enough to know that when it was time, he could reduce himself to incoherent moaning and keening, or just wordlessness.

“I need you inside me…” Jaskier trilled, shivering. Again, the switch - “Don’t you forget what I said.”

Geralt’s hand snapped to Jaskier’s throat. “I don’t think you’re in the position to be making commands, Jaskier.” His growl tore through Jaskier’s chest, and he moaned at the sound of Geralt’s tone. Jaskier whimpered again and nodded,

“Right, of course,” awkwardly, then, languid, “Yes sir.” Jaskier planted kisses down his neck, continuing his tantalizing grind against Geralt’s cock. He inhaled softly and purred, “Can I ask you to fuck me, then?”

Geralt smirked. “Hmm. Maybe if you ask nicely, Jaskier.”

Jaskier inhaled, sharply, broken; Geralt saying his name always raked through him, always torched his gut with a hot roasting fork. Jaskier let himself melt over Geralt, before pressing his asshole against Geralt’s cock.

It started with a whisper. “Please, Geralt” And then became a soft song, much slower than he sung before, more slurred.

“O White Wolf, my soul is yours to love…” Jaskier pushed his entrance against the head of Geralt’s cock. His eyes rolled back in his head, _Fuck, it’s so good_ …

“M-my body, yours to t-take…” Jaskier’s pitch accuracy was floating away along with his consciousness, it seemed.

Geralt tilted his head at Jaskier, still smirking just so. He hummed his approval deep in his chest, and it fucking stunned him that even that is enough to make the bard gasp and bite his lip.

“The oil, Jaskier.” He knew Jaskier melted at his tone, now. Not abrasive, but deliciously domineering. He noticed the shift in the bard’s glassy eyes. Jaskier dove across the tent to ruffle through his pack. This is why. This is why, the second he began traveling with Geralt, that he kept oil in his pack. Last night, he probably would have gone without it, but his status as a slutty bard had him constantly preparing for that kind of human connection.

He returned to Geralt’s lap with the bottle of oil, pulling off the cork with all his strength and tossing it onto the bedroll beside him. He tilted it onto his fingers and reached behind him before settling his cock against Geralt’s. With shaking hands, he returned the oil to the ground. Again, a low chuckle emerged from deep in his chest. This was his bard: coming apart at the seams, laughing through it all.

“I’m opening myself for you, Geralt…” Jaskier purred. A blush covered his face, paths of old tears shining in the light of the lantern. He worked two fingers back into himself easily, whimpering and slotting his cock against Geralt’s.

“I can see that.” Geralt burred, a small smile tugging at his lips. He loved watching the bard begin to take himself apart for Geralt, back arched, lithe muscle shimmering from sweat, gained during the years they traveled together. He licked his lips and inhaled the sweet scent of Jaskier’s arousal. He couldn’t deny the bardic energy made him somewhat like of a shimmering god, an “incubus”, if one could dramatize…

“Fuuck…” Jaskier chuckled darkly, low in his throat, gazing at the precipice standing before him. Twenty-two years ago, in that tavern, he jumped off of it. But it had rematerialized with each year they spent together. Here he was again, bearing his suffering for Geralt to consume. Was this his destiny as a bard? To be cursed with emotions so intense it led him to dramatics? Even in his inner monologue?

Jaskier felt his emotions peaking. “G-Geralt… I can’t reach as well as you…” He whined.

“Hmm.” Geralt purred. “I wondered how long you would try that for.” And Jaskier removed his fingers slowly and felt Geralt’s hand rising up between his asscheeks to meet his. Jaskier gasped as Geralt slid one finger into him, down to the last knuckle and began to gently thrust, sweeping his fingertip over Jaskier’s prostate.

“Sing for me.” Geralt purred, and worked in a second finger. He rocked his hand steadily, firmly, working out a similar length of sounds from Jaskier’s mouth.

“A-aahh….aahhhh…” Jaskier sucked in a breath. “Geeraalt…” he keened, squirming as bolts of pleasure shot from his balls to behind his eyes with every thrust of Geralt’s fingers against his prostate, between motions of gentle scissoring.

Geralt rumbled affectionately in Jaskier’s ear, the breath slowly leaving Jaskier’s lungs in response. The darkness in Jaskier’s moans and whines at the forefront of his mind. Like cherry, but with a hint of sour. He knew Jaskier was just one of those people who couldn’t bear to stay quiet during sex if they were somewhere they didn’t have to do so.

It was also just part of his personality, Geralt thought. Endlessly irritating… But after months of silence, sometimes, he would find himself humming softly in Jaskier’s place.

Geralt worked in a third finger, and Jaskier lived for those moments when Geralt would take him apart, where his whole world became how Geralt’s fingers broached his entrance, the stretch, the warmth-

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier tossed his head back again and Geralt allowed himself to kiss and suck more bruises into the bard’s beautiful column of a throat. Geralt’s three fingers brushed his prostate again and the moan that left Jaskier’s throat was cracking with want.

“I love it when you sing for me,” Geralt purred in Jaskier’s ear. “I think you’re ready.” He kissed Jaskier’s cheek as he removed his fingers, anticipating the whine that would leave Jaskier’s mouth.

“Patience, my bard…” A low growl came from Geralt. He lay back on the bedroll, one hand tracing Jaskier’s thighs, the other stroking his cock. He noticed Jaskier salivating, his face flushed with a sheen layer of sweat.

Jaskier’s jagged, soft breaths filled Geralt’s ears as their fingers intermingled around his cock, guiding him to press against Jaskier’s entrance. Jaskier’s eyes rolled back in his head as he fucked himself gently onto Geralt’s cock, wanting to start with the head. Geralt didn’t have a monster cock per se, but was definitely bigger than every man Jaskier ever had inside him. That was part of what made him stumble into an addiction to Geralt he couldn’t shake.

The head of Geralt’s cock slipped past Jaskier’s tight ring of muscle and he gasped. Fuck! Jaskier let out a long moan as he willed his sphincter to relax. He pushed himself down just one inch. It was a tight squeeze and he fucking loved it. Jaskier looked down at Geralt and bit his lip.

“May I touch myself, Master Witcher? Just so I can make it easier for us….” Jaskier whimpered. Geralt nodded. Jaskier’s hand slipped down to his cock, stroking gently in time with tiny thrusts down onto Geralt’s cock. Inch by inch, Jaskier paced himself, the feeling of fullness growing slowly until after five minutes, Geralt was buried to the hilt inside Jaskier.

He wriggled his hips to fully engulf Geralt’s cock, his walls sucking him in as far as they possibly could. He groaned, low in his chest, eyelashes fluttering. He spent a few minutes gently writhing on Geralt’s cock, little moans of pleasure escaping him with each gentle thrust. Geralt’s hands snaked up his body to caress his nipple and pinch it, pulling a squeal from the bard’s mouth.

Jaskier began to move on top of Geralt, tiny whimpers escaping his lips as he worked his core to ride Geralt like the whore he wanted to be, in that moment. Geralt’s hands moved to his hips and squeezed as a smirk crossed his lips. “You want it rough, don’t you, Jaskier?” Geralt teased, thrusting suddenly hard into Jaskier.

“Fuck, yes, Geralt! Please!” Jaskier begged his his walls fluttered in response. “Please fuck me rough, Master Witcher…” His voice trailed off into a high-pitched sigh as he rolled his hips against Geralt.

Geralt smirked and grabbed Jaskier by his throat and pulled him onto his chest, just as they were last night… And set a brutal pace. Jaskier quickly lost count of how many times Geralt pounded into him. His throat was constantly emitting a high-pitched moan, again, punctuated by Geralt’s thrusts. The friction of Jaskier’s cock against Geralt’s stomach was almost too much to bear alongside Geralt hitting his prostate.

Geralt’s muscled arms held Jaskier against his chest as he ravaged his asshole, his fingers clenched around the back of his neck, weaving through his hair, as his hips pistoned up into Jaskier. Jaskier’s eyes rolled back in his head before they finally closed. His home, his place in this world, was around Geralt’s cock. Though Jaskier was melting in Geralt’s arms, he never stopped moaning. The sensation of Geralt utterly surrounding him filled his veins with white hot light, pleasure burning inside his bowels from his prostate. His throat needed to sing, and Jaskier knew that Geralt knew it would be a sin to choke it out of him.

Though Jaskier decided to keep his eyes closed, he was swimming by the feeling of Geralt’s muscular body beneath him, Geralt’s hands, moving from his hips to fuck him hard, moving to his throat to squeeze, the sound of their skin slapping together, the low growl that constantly rumbled in his chest as he used every ounce of strength to pound mercilessly into Jaskier’s body.

“Ger-alt, you-re-a-god…” Jaskier preened, drool pooling from his lips on Geralt’s chest.

“No, Jaskier. Just a Witcher,” he growled in Jaskier’s ear as his hand traced a delicate line down Jaskier’s back, settling on his ass to deliver a spank and a hard squeeze.

“Ger-alt-, I’m-gon-na-cum…” Jaskier cried out. “Ah-ah-ah-ah… Ger-alt, please…”

“Hmm.” Geralt purred. He bent his knees upwards, to tilt Jaskier’s ass up just enough for him to pound his prostate every time. Geralt took a deep breath and sped up his thrusts to a brutal pace, making Jaskier scream, the vibrations of his throat coursing through Geralt’s torso. Geralt absolutely loved pushing Jaskier until his voice was cracking. With a handful of thrusts, Jaskier coated both of their stomachs with heat as his walls clenched around him. Jaskier choked out a groan as all of his muscles contracted, his body shaking. 

Geralt’s lips met his ear and his thumb stroked soft circles on Jaskier’s ass. “Still want more?” He purred, thrusting gentler now into Jaskier.

Jaskier took a moment to breathe deeply, before sighing wantonly, “Yes, Geralt.” He inhaled slowly and pushed himself further down on Geralt’s cock. “Wan’ you to cum in me.” He slurred.

“Hmm.” Geralt smirked and thrust harder again into Jaskier, earning him a loud moan. Jaskier nuzzled Geralt’s thick neck and sucked a bruise there, whining through it. Geralt could feel his body emitting waves of lust in response to Jaskier. It had been so long since he was near someone that wanted him like this. Like Yennefer. Ready to fully embrace the darkest parts of him, eagerly lapping him up, begging for him to leave bruises. Human arousal wasn’t that impressive, but sometimes… It sucked the energy from him. He’d seen that fire, that animalistic desire for all of him. In Yen. And now Jaskier. He seemed to keep bumping into people that wanted to throw themselves at him.

Jaskier whined and reminded Geralt that he forgot to move, introspective in amazement at the awakening of his sexuality Jaskier had caused. Geralt grunted and thrusted back into Jaskier, just as hard and fast as he had earlier. His hands massaged Jaskier’s back muscles on their way down to his hips to grip like iron, to move Jaskier like a ragdoll on his cock.

Jaskier screamed, low and cracked, the speed of the friction against his oversensitive cock sending bolts of lightning to his fingers and toes. Geralt lost himself in the silken heat of Jaskier’s walls fluttering around him, every slide making his balls tighten, remembering to show just enough mercy as to not injure his bard. Jaskier moaned like a whore, reveling in the way Geralt’s deep thrusts choked the air from his throat multiple times a second. This was his _favorite_ place, one he could only dream of for far too long. _This was home._

Through the next few dozen thrusts, Geralt felt the hot coil in his balls tightening, each slide against against Jaskier’s walls sending hot tendrils of pleasure through every limb. Jaskier’s irises were barely visible underneath his fluttering eyelids. Geralt planted his feet on the bedroll and brought his knees up. He squeezed Jaskier’s hips as he pulled him deeper onto his cock, slamming his hips up to meet the bard in the middle of the motion.

Jaskier screamed immediately, a wordless “Ah!-“, and then, a steady moaned, “Ye-e-es,” as each thrust of Geralt’s cock choked the air out of Jaskier. His cockhead abused Jaskier’s prostate with every thrust; Jaskier babbling Geralt’s name like it was a prayer. Even single syllables broken up by Geralt’s cock; Jaskier could feel him in his throat, his body unraveling in Geralt’s hands.

Jaskier knew, that day in the tavern, exactly what he wanted. All he had to do was wait 20 years, all the while watching him fight, allowing the man to accept his physical care - to finally, finally, feel Geralt to exercising that beautiful precision of strength and coordination to fuck Jaskier out of his mind. Jaskier knew that Geralt fucked the same way he fought the moment he laid eyes on him.

Another few dozen thrusts. Jaskier’s voice became a constant stream of keening, wanton, “Ah, ah, ah, ah,” On Geralt’s every command of his hips, snapping up to meet Jaskier's thighs. Geralt growled and let his own eyelids flutter and his body shudder as he approached the precipice of his orgasm. He had just a shred of control left, hanging onto it desperately even as he pounded Jaskier within an inch of his life.

Jaskier’s asshole was a burning velvet vice around Geralt’s cock, buried to the hilt, and Geralt felt endless energy thrumming in his veins, but he was losing grip, Jaskier was strangling his cock with his heat, and his helpless sounds and how he just leaned into Geralt fucking him brainless - was terrifying. Just like Yennefer. He knew he hid something feral within himself. Rough sex was only the tip of the iceberg, and that’s why he didn’t let just anyone beg for his cock. He chased his pleasure, allowing himself to use Jaskier’s body, just showing barely enough mercy not to disembowel him.

Jaskier made his ecstasy known with a weak “Ye-e-e-es…” before leaning back into his _Ah, Ah, Ah _s, occasionally licking at Geralt’s neck and chest, his whole world becoming Geralt, Geralt’s grip, his constant growl, vibrating Jaskier’s entire body, the punishing pace of his thrusts, his hot breath on his skin.__

____

Geralt roared as he felt his orgasm curling its claws around his insides, quieting to a snarl in Jaskier’s ear. “I’m going to cum.”

____

Jaskier nodded his head against Geralt’s collarbone, mumbling something that sounded like Please. Geralt’s balls tightened and the coil in his gut snapped as he felt the first pulse of cum erupt inside Jaskier. Jaskier moaned loudly, just like the good whore he was. His moan was ragged, growing louder every time another pulse of Geralt’s hot seed coated his walls. They kept coming. Geralt roared again as he felt his limbs slipping into a liquid-like state, desparately pumping his cum into Jaskier. Another few dozen thrusts. Geralt’s balls are finally empty, Jaskier shaking. Geralt purred.

____

“Love having you full of me, Jaskier.” Geralt closed his eyes and trailed his fingers through Jaskier’s hair.

____

Jaskier spoke, shaking, “Fuck, Geralt, I’m yours. You can’t take it back now. I’ll never get you out of me.” Jaskier remembered being 18, his mind in the gutter, approaching Geralt, with some kind of hunch that he would be like this… But nothing compared to have his hot seed stuffed inside him.

____

“Lay with me for a while,” Geralt purred into Jaskier’s face again. Geralt inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with the scent of their skin and seed.

____

“F-f-fuck… Geralt…” his eyes rolled back in his head again. “There is no other place I’d rather be.”

____

Jaskier shifted his hips, getting used to the sensation of being stuffed so full. It wasn’t too much, just enough to apply outward force on his walls, sending a constant buzz of arousal to his cock. He closed his eyes and smiled, ecstacy dripping from his soul. That soul. He sang, it was Geralt’s to love.

____

Geralt squinted his eyes and hummed deeply. He ran his hands over Jaskier’s back, massaging his shoulderblades and spine. Jaskier felt tears of ecstacy well up in his eyes as aftershocks of his orgasm still rocked his body.

____

“I’m in love with you, Geralt. You just sealed my fate forever.” Jaskier mouthed against his skin, wiping his drool on the back of his hand before placing it back on Geralt’s arm. 

____

Geralt Hmmm’ed low in his chest. That statement cut deep. It filled him with fear, to be needed. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of how he cared for his bard. He could not define love for himself, like humans. But he knew who was important to him.

____

“Jaskier, you’re important to me. And I’m still not going anywhere.” He spoke lowly. He twirled strands of Jaskier’s hair around his fingers and planted a kiss to the top of his head. Jaskier sighed, relieved, and nuzzled against Geralt’s neck.

____

“Good.” Jaskier purred, wriggling his hips to feel Geralt rubbing against his walls, silken with cum. “Now let me sleep for a while…” His voice trailed off into a whisper. Geralt’s lips curled into a smile as he allowed himself to close his eyes too. He felt blunt tendrils of arousal pulsing through him, his body calling to the bard on top of him. He didn’t know what love meant, he was never taught. But Jaskier was truly his, now. He knew once he had given the bard his seed and kept it in him he would be intoxicated. It had been so long since someone was drunk on his very presence…

____

Geralt inhaled deeply and slipped into a meditative state. _Think about it later._

____

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! find me on twitter at @PetrichorBather


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